Page 7 of Unconventional Love

“Yes, but her audiobook narrator for Red Night is, and I plan on having him sign my ass.” Jules gasps in horror. I laugh, ignoring her feign disgust, and finally throw on my coat. Even if I don’t have him sign my ass, it’ll be a good time.

CHAPTERSIX

graham

The frigid water of the shower rains down on me. As tired as I am today, I have no regrets about last night. I knew damn well I still had to wake up and workout this morning, but I didn’t care, it was worth the sleep deprivation. Regardless, I still managed to get a solid hour and a half at the gym in; the veins now prominent in my hands and forearms, ensuring I look the part for today’s signing. An idea strikes me, and I shut off the water. Between the ice cold torrent, and the preworkout, I feel energized enough for the day ahead.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I grab my phone, and begin typing. Since I’m already up, and considering my girl let me know exactly where she’s staying, I have breakfast sent to her hotel room before throwing on the clothes I had to purchase this morning.

The more I think about it, I should’ve had coffee delivered, too—no need for her to go see any more baristas.

Next time I see her, because Iwillbeseeing her again, I’ll also include bringing up the lack of safety measures she took prior to bringing strangers back to her room, in a city she’s only visiting. Based on what little conversation we had last night, she seems like a very self-assured woman who wouldn’t heed my bullshit warning. Even so, there’s a primal, possessive need in me that gets angry every time I think of her not caring about her own safety.

I don’t even know her name, how long she is in town, or how to contact her. After realizing that she’s staying at the same hotel as this convention, I’m just holding onto hope that my girl will stop by my table today. The thrill of the chase has my cock growing with excitement.

Am I sure I’ll see her today? No. But the pull I felt to her last night is undeniable.

Shit, maybe she’s right. Maybe I am unhinged. Living in delusion that I’ll absolutely see her again. I can’t get the feel of her mouth around my cock out of my head, the way her tear tracks intertwined with the glowing paint on her face as she looked up at me through her lashes…Fuck.

With today’s convention being one of the biggest I’ve done, I need to stop fantasizing about her and get my shit together. If luck is on my side, my siren will re emerge for me later today.

* * *

Convention goers are bustling around me. Our table is set up in the middle of the giant ballroom, meaning we’ll get quite the crowd. Excitement fills my chest as the room fills, hope beaconing me as every brunette, blue eyed woman crosses my path.

There’s a woman across the way with similar hair to my siren, causing my thoughts to drift to last night.God, what I’d give for a taste of my girl.

“Graham! Hi, can we get a picture?” The giggling females in front of me pull me out of my reverie, effectively ending the impending hard on my thoughts were eliciting.

“Sure thing.” I flash the pair a smile and meet them in front of the backdrop that’s set up to my right.

Enlarged images of covers with my name are scrawled across the fabric hanging against the wall. One of the girls glances behind me at one of the covers of me half naked, then glances down to my clothed torso with a smirk.

It’s going to be a long day…

Once they have their photo, I sign their autograph books, and engage in brief small talk to appease them. Once they’re satisfied, I turn my attention to the next guest in line. “Hey, ladies,” I offer them a megawatt smile, and expectantly move toward my backdrop.

I’ve learned that the key to these conventions is a little flirtation with the guests. They fucking love it, and the more loved I am, the more authors want me on their covers.

I started modeling in college to make extra money, the side gig took off when a mafia romance series I modeled for made it big. I changed my major from chemical engineering to graphic design soon after that; I didn’t just want to model, I wanted to design the covers, too.

My parents weren’t exactly thrilled, considering my dad is an investment banker, and my mom is the vice president of a fortune five-hundred. Once I was bringing in six-figures, they came around, though. The money is definitely a perk, but I also genuinely enjoy getting to know the authors I model for, and the readers who obsess over the covers. Parental approval aside, I’m happy doing something I enjoy.

Two hours have passed and I’ve taken hundreds of pictures, signed countless books, shirts, and various items… and my girl is yet to be seen. I should really be more focused, my game is off today, as I’ve scanned the room no less than a hundred times. There are over a thousand people here; I’m looking for a needle in a haystack at this point.

Thirty minutes later, right as I’m about to give up my delusion, I spot her, my girl, three tables down standing at Irene Bahrd’s table.

I fucking knew it.

I stare at her a moment longer before Nick, fellow cover model, and my table partner, clears his throat. Keeping his wide smile, he speaks through gritted teeth, “Hey, man. These girls want a picture.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry ladies.” I sling my arms over their shoulders, sign their autograph books, and immediately turn back to look for my siren… who just so happens to be staring right back at me, ice blue eyes wide, and jaw dropped.

There’s my girl.

CHAPTERSEVEN

liv

---